Oliver Twist
LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES
“Wolves tear your throats!” Sikes, his teeth. “I wish I was among some of you; you’d the for it.”
As Sikes this imprecation, with the most that his nature was of, he rested the of the boy across his knee; and his head, for an instant, to look at his pursuers.
There was little to be out, in the and darkness; but the loud of men through the air, and the barking of the dogs, by the of the bell, in every direction.
“Stop, you white-livered hound!” the robber, after Toby Crackit, who, making the best use of his long legs, was already ahead. “Stop!”
The of the word, Toby to a stand-still. For he was not satisfied that he was the range of pistol-shot; and Sikes was in no mood to be played with.
“Bear a hand with the boy,” Sikes, to his confederate. “Come back!”
Toby a of returning; but ventured, in a low voice, for want of breath, to as he came slowly along.
“Quicker!” Sikes, the boy in a at his feet, and a pistol from his pocket. “Don’t play with me.”
At this moment the noise louder. Sikes, again looking round, that the men who had were already the gate of the in which he stood; and that a of dogs were some in of them.
“It’s all up, Bill!” Toby; “drop the kid, and ’em your heels.” With this advice, Mr. Crackit, the of being by his friend, to the of being taken by his enemies, tail, and off at full speed. Sikes his teeth; took one look around; over the of Oliver, the in which he had been muffled; ran along the of the hedge, as if to the attention of those behind, from the spot where the boy lay; paused, for a second, another which met it at right angles; and his pistol high into the air, it at a bound, and was gone.
“Ho, ho, there!” a voice in the rear. “Pincher! Neptune! Come here, come here!”
The dogs, who, in common with their masters, to have no particular for the sport in which they were engaged, answered to the command. Three men, who had by this time some into the field, stopped to take together.
“My advice, or, leastways, I should say, my orders, is,” said the man of the party, “that we ’mediately go home again.”
“I am to anything which is to Mr. Giles,” said a man; who was by no means of a figure, and who was very in the face, and very polite: as men are.
“I shouldn’t wish to appear ill-mannered, gentlemen,” said the third, who had called the dogs back, “Mr. Giles ought to know.”
“Certainly,” the man; “and Mr. Giles says, it isn’t our place to him. No, no, I know my sitiwation! Thank my stars, I know my sitiwation.” To tell the truth, the little man did to know his situation, and to know perfectly well that it was by no means a one; for his teeth in his as he spoke.
“You are afraid, Brittles,” said Mr. Giles.
“I an’t,” said Brittles.
“You are,” said Giles.
“You’re a falsehood, Mr. Giles,” said Brittles.
“You’re a lie, Brittles,” said Mr. Giles.
Now, these four from Mr. Giles’s taunt; and Mr. Giles’s had from his at having the of going home again, upon himself under of a compliment. The third man the to a close, most philosophically.
“I’ll tell you what it is, gentlemen,” said he, “we’re all afraid.”
“Speak for yourself, sir,” said Mr. Giles, who was the of the party.
“So I do,” the man. “It’s natural and proper to be afraid, under such circumstances. I am.”
“So am I,” said Brittles; “only there’s no call to tell a man he is, so bounceably.”
These Mr. Giles, who at once owned that he was afraid; upon which, they all three about, and ran again with the unanimity, until Mr. Giles (who had the wind of the party, as was with a pitchfork) most on stopping, to make an for his of speech.
“But it’s wonderful,” said Mr. Giles, when he had explained, “what a man will do, when his blood is up. I should have murder—I know I should—if we’d one of them rascals.”
As the other two were with a presentiment; and as their blood, like his, had all gone again; some upon the of this in their temperament.
“I know what it was,” said Mr. Giles; “it was the gate.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if it was,” Brittles, at the idea.
“You may upon it,” said Giles, “that that gate stopped the of the excitement. I all mine going away, as I was over it.”
By a coincidence, the other two had been visited with the same at that moment. It was obvious, therefore, that it was the gate; as there was no the time at which the had taken place, all three that they had come in of the at the of its occurance.
This was the two men who had the burglars, and a who had been sleeping in an outhouse, and who had been roused, together with his two curs, to join in the pursuit. Mr. Giles in the of and to the old lady of the mansion; Brittles was a of all-work: who, having entered her service a child, was as a promising boy still, though he was something past thirty.
Encouraging each other with such as this; but, very close together, notwithstanding, and looking round, a fresh through the boughs; the three men to a tree, which they had left their lantern, its light should the in what direction to fire. Catching up the light, they the best of their way home, at a good trot; and long after their had to be discernible, the light might have been and dancing in the distance, like some of the and through which it was borne.
The air colder, as day came slowly on; and the rolled along the ground like a cloud of smoke. The was wet; the pathways, and low places, were all and water; the of an wind by, with a moaning. Still, Oliver and on the spot where Sikes had left him.
Morning on apace. The air more and piercing, as its hue—the death of night, than the birth of day—glimmered in the sky. The objects which had looked and terrible in the darkness, more and more defined, and into their familiar shapes. The rain came down, thick and fast, and among the bushes. But, Oliver it not, as it against him; for he still stretched, and unconscious, on his of clay.
At length, a low of pain the that prevailed; and it, the boy awoke. His left arm, in a shawl, and at his side; the was with blood. He was so weak, that he himself into a posture; when he had done so, he looked for help, and with pain. Trembling in every joint, from cold and exhaustion, he an to upright; but, from to foot, on the ground.
After a return of the in which he had been so long plunged, Oliver: by a at his heart, which to him that if he there, he must surely die: got upon his feet, and to walk. His was dizzy, and he to and like a man. But he up, nevertheless, and, with his on his breast, onward, he not whither.
And now, of and ideas came on his mind. He to be still walking Sikes and Crackit, who were disputing—for the very they said, in his ears; and when he his own attention, as it were, by making some to save himself from falling, he that he was talking to them. Then, he was alone with Sikes, on as on the previous day; and as people passed them, he the robber’s upon his wrist. Suddenly, he started at the report of firearms; there rose into the air, loud and shouts; lights his eyes; all was noise and tumult, as some hand him away. Through all these visions, there ran an undefined, of pain, which and him incessantly.
Thus he on, creeping, almost mechanically, the of gates, or through hedge-gaps as they came in his way, until he a road. Here the rain to so heavily, that it him.
He looked about, and saw that at no great there was a house, which he reach. Pitying his condition, they might have on him; and if they did not, it would be better, he thought, to die near beings, than in the open fields. He up all his for one last trial, and his steps it.
As he nearer to this house, a come over him that he had it before. He nothing of its details; but the shape and of the familiar to him.
That garden wall! On the inside, he had on his last night, and prayed the two men’s mercy. It was the very house they had to rob.
Oliver such come over him when he the place, that, for the instant, he the of his wound, and only of flight. Flight! He stand: and if he were in full of all the best powers of his and frame, he fly? He pushed against the garden-gate; it was unlocked, and open on its hinges. He across the lawn; the steps; at the door; and, his whole him, against one of the of the little portico.
It that about this time, Mr. Giles, Brittles, and the tinker, were themselves, after the and terrors of the night, with tea and sundries, in the kitchen. Not that it was Mr. Giles’s to admit to too great the servants: it was his to himself with a affability, which, while it gratified, not fail to them of his position in society. But, death, fires, and burglary, make all men equals; so Mr. Giles sat with his out the fender, his left arm on the table, while, with his right, he a and minute account of the robbery, to which his (but the cook and housemaid, who were of the party) with interest.
“It was about half-past two,” said Mr. Giles, “or I wouldn’t that it mightn’t have been a little nearer three, when I up, and, in my bed, as it might be so, (here Mr. Giles in his chair, and the of the table-cloth over him to bed-clothes,) I I a noise.”
At this point of the the cook pale, and asked the to the door: who asked Brittles, who asked the tinker, who not to hear.
“—Heerd a noise,” Mr. Giles. “I says, at first, ‘This is illusion’; and was myself off to sleep, when I the noise again, distinct.”
“What of a noise?” asked the cook.
“A of a noise,” Mr. Giles, looking him.
“More like the noise of a iron on a nutmeg-grater,” Brittles.
“It was, when you it, sir,” Mr. Giles; “but, at this time, it had a sound. I the clothes”; Giles, the table-cloth, “sat up in bed; and listened.”
The cook and “Lor!” and their chairs closer together.
“I it now, apparent,” Mr. Giles. “‘Somebody,’ I says, ‘is of a door, or window; what’s to be done? I’ll call up that lad, Brittles, and save him from being in his bed; or his throat,’ I says, ‘may be cut from his right ear to his left, without his it.’”
Here, all were upon Brittles, who his upon the speaker, and at him, with his mouth wide open, and his of the most horror.
“I off the clothes,” said Giles, away the table-cloth, and looking very hard at the cook and housemaid, “got out of bed; on a pair of—”
“Ladies present, Mr. Giles,” the tinker.
“—Of shoes, sir,” said Giles, upon him, and great on the word; “seized the pistol that always goes with the plate-basket; and walked on to his room. ‘Brittles,’ I says, when I had him, ‘don’t be frightened!’”
“So you did,” Brittles, in a low voice.
“‘We’re men, I think, Brittles,’ I says,” Giles; “‘but don’t be frightened.’”
“Was he frightened?” asked the cook.
“Not a of it,” Mr. Giles. “He was as firm—ah! near as as I was.”
“I should have died at once, I’m sure, if it had been me,” the housemaid.
“You’re a woman,” Brittles, up a little.
“Brittles is right,” said Mr. Giles, his head, approvingly; “from a woman, nothing else was to be expected. We, being men, took a dark that was on Brittle’s hob, and our way in the dark,—as it might be so.”
Mr. Giles had from his seat, and taken two steps with his shut, to his with action, when he started violently, in common with the of the company, and to his chair. The cook and screamed.
“It was a knock,” said Mr. Giles, perfect serenity. “Open the door, somebody.”
Nobody moved.
“It a of a thing, a at such a time in the morning,” said Mr. Giles, the which him, and looking very blank himself; “but the door must be opened. Do you hear, somebody?”
Mr. Giles, as he spoke, looked at Brittles; but that man, being naturally modest, himself nobody, and so that the not have any to him; at all events, he no reply. Mr. Giles an at the tinker; but he had asleep. The were out of the question.
“If Brittles would open the door, in the presence of witnesses,” said Mr. Giles, after a silence, “I am to make one.”
“So am I,” said the tinker, up, as as he had asleep.
Brittles on these terms; and the party being re-assured by the (made on open the shutters) that it was now day, took their way upstairs; with the dogs in front. The two women, who were to below, up the rear. By the of Mr. Giles, they all talked very loud, to any evil-disposed person outside, that they were in numbers; and by a master-stoke of policy, in the brain of the same gentleman, the dogs’ were well pinched, in the hall, to make them savagely.
These having been taken, Mr. Giles on fast by the tinker’s arm (to prevent his away, as he said), and gave the word of to open the door. Brittles obeyed; the group, over each other’s shoulders, no more object than little Oliver Twist, and exhausted, who his eyes, and their compassion.
“A boy!” Mr. Giles, valiantly, pushing the into the background. “What’s the with the—eh?—Why—Brittles—look here—don’t you know?”
Brittles, who had got the door to open it, no sooner saw Oliver, than he a loud cry. Mr. Giles, the boy by one leg and one arm (fortunately not the limb) him into the hall, and deposited him at full length on the thereof.
“Here he is!” Giles, calling in a of great excitement, up the staircase; “here’s one of the thieves, ma’am! Here’s a thief, miss! Wounded, miss! I him, miss; and Brittles the light.”
“—In a lantern, miss,” Brittles, one hand to the of his mouth, so that his voice might travel the better.
The two women-servants ran to the that Mr. Giles had a robber; and the himself in to Oliver, he should die he be hanged. In the of all this noise and commotion, there was a sweet female voice, which it in an instant.
“Giles!” the voice from the stair-head.
“I’m here, miss,” Mr. Giles. “Don’t be frightened, miss; I ain’t much injured. He didn’t make a very resistance, miss! I was soon too many for him.”
“Hush!” the lady; “you my aunt as much as the did. Is the much hurt?”
“Wounded desperate, miss,” Giles, with complacency.
“He looks as if he was a-going, miss,” Brittles, in the same manner as before. “Wouldn’t you like to come and look at him, miss, in case he should?”
“Hush, pray; there’s a good man!” the lady. “Wait only one instant, while I speak to aunt.”
With a as soft and as the voice, the away. She soon returned, with the direction that the person was to be carried, carefully, to Mr. Giles’s room; and that Brittles was to the and himself to Chertsey: from which place, he was to despatch, with all speed, a and doctor.
“But won’t you take one look at him, first, miss?” asked Mr. Giles, with as much as if Oliver were some bird of plumage, that he had down. “Not one little peep, miss?”
“Not now, for the world,” the lady. “Poor fellow! Oh! him kindly, Giles for my sake!”
The old looked up at the speaker, as she away, with a as proud and as if she had been his own child. Then, over Oliver, he helped to him upstairs, with the and of a woman.
